The eerily warm air continues, allowing nature a bit of respite from the usual winter hardships.

Each morning the dawn breaks with a ribbon of lemon yellow across the treed horizon, the sky lightening a bit earlier each day. Over the ocean the line of light expands into fingers of peach and pink, darkening here, spreading there, until the whole sky is awash with a rosy glow.

The winter ducks that have become our winter beach walking companions sit peacefully on the still water tinged with aqua and violet as the sunrise display reaches its crescendo. The gulls begin to move and the silence, previously broken only by the quiet lapping of waves, is now interrupted with the intermittent staccato notes of their early morning calls.

The beach glistens with shells in the early morning light, touched with rose and gold as the sun leaves his bed and bursts from the horizon in a blaze of light. Translucent whelks shine with their inner pinks and oranges showing through, scallops and jingle shells wink and glitter with mixed hues and a watery wash.

A walk in the woods at the Skunknet conservation area in Centerville is filled with the sounds of birds calling, encouraged by the spring like temperatures and the abundance of food. Titmice whistle back and forth while downy woodpeckers call, stopping to hammer against a tree trunk or to bob through the trees, their black and white feathers bright against the grays of bark and empty branches.

Chickadees are everywhere, their cheerful flitting through nearby bushes a happy accompaniment to my walk.

Red squirrel middens, those little piles of well chewed pine cones complete with skeleton and scales but minus the seeds once hidden inside seem to be everywhere. A close look at acorns scattered here and there shows the work of mice and other small critters.

Some acorns are torn apart, leaving only strips of outer skin, showing the work of gray squirrels. Others are only partially chewed while others have only the tiniest of teeth marks. A whole banquet has taken place here with many takers, most likely not at once, but in a progression through the days and nights just past.

Little shallow holes are dug in the pine needles and leaves here and there, most likely the work of hungry skunks. Larger digs may indicate the work of foxes or coyotes. One dig seems to follow a bit of trail under the leaves until a larger area is laid bare. It is not hard to imagine the chase that may have occurred here as a small mammal ran for its life, trying to stay hidden under the leaves. This small creature probably lost this race. There is an abrupt end to this story written in leaves, twigs and dirt.

A little farther on I find what looks to be an owl's resting spot, a hole in a large white pine, signs of guano outside the entrance letting me know it has been used at least somewhat recently.

The hole is the right size for a screech owl, one of our more common owls. Sure enough, there are owl pellets here, the remains of dinners compressed and left behind.

A nuthatch gives its familiar "yank yank" call just above my head and I look up to see not one, but two white breasted nuthatches watching me. They happily resume their business of looking for bugs and spiders in the cracks and crevices of bark and I continue to enjoy my walk through the muted colors of winter, mixed with the hopeful sounds of early spring